‘We are all much in statu quo. Our time is now passing swiftly and pleasantly. Mother looks so bright and bonny and young! We were talking together to-day of your and your dear husband’s kindness to sweet Fanny. I am sure that it has not been lost.’
Then came the mournful news; and a hasty short scrawl conveyed the first intimation of it from Charlotte Tucker to her niece, ‘Leila’ Hamilton; a note without any formal beginning:—
‘Break to your sweet Mother and Aunt Mina that God has taken my darling Letitia. His Will be done,—Your sorrowing Aunt,
‘C. M. T.
‘All was peace,—smiling!’
The illness had been short,—a severe attack of erysipelas, while Letitia was in her brother’s house at Moultan. Somewhat early in the illness she had said,—‘I am sure I shall die; but one ought not to mind, you know.’ While delirious she was heard to say distinctly,—‘Ta,’—her pet name in the past for her aunt Charlotte; but the message, if there were one, could not be distinguished.
After much wandering, she regained sufficient consciousness to assure those around that she was suffering no pain; and five or six times she repeated to her brother,—‘I am very fond of you!’ This was on a Wednesday. The next day, Thursday, she was too weak for speech; though in the morning, recognising her brother, she gave him a sweet smile. Thenceforward the dying girl was entirely peaceful; as said by one of those present,—‘constantly smiling. Her whole face was lighted up as with extreme pleasure.’ All day this continued, as she slowly sank; the face remaining perfectly calm and untroubled; till at length, when she passed away, soon after eleven o’clock at night, ‘she ceased to breathe so gently that she seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep.’ But the placid smile was still there, unchanged, till the sweet young face was hidden away.
Charlotte Tucker, writing to her sister, Mrs. Hamilton, about these sad particulars, which yet were not all sad, observed:—
‘I am sure your heart has been aching, and your eyes have been weeping. Such a sudden—such an unexpected stroke! But God is Wisdom and Love....
‘Darling—my own darling Letitia! Oh, when she looked so happy, did she not see the angels—or her beloved Father—or the Bedwells and old Rodman whom she had so tended,—perhaps all coming to welcome her,—or the loving Saviour Himself? I do not grudge her to Him; but oh, what a wealth of love I have (apparently) lost in that one young heart! Her last parcel of letters to me contained sweet commissions for her poor.... I dare say that I shall hear from you to-morrow; but it is a relief to me to write now to you, who were so kind and dear to her. I went out before breakfast this morning. A thrush was singing so sweetly. I saw the first crocus of the year. My flower,—my lovely one,—she may now be singing in joy, while we sit in sorrow.’